


They Say No Lies

by ultimatebellarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 12:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10019999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultimatebellarke/pseuds/ultimatebellarke
Summary: Only those in a bond of marriage are allowed safe passage. It’s a just negotiation deal for Clarke—but Octavia knows her brother thinks otherwise.





	

The Grounders all have their arrows cocked, ready to fire at a single command from their Head—who, much to Octavia’s astonishment, is an elderly woman. She is carried on a chair by several warriors, and is voiced by her much larger, stronger Second. She tries not to stare at the elder, she really tries—but the sight is so rare. She can’t remember the last time she saw someone so old.

Clarke’s voice pulls her away from her gawking. “We mean you no harm,” Clarke is saying, “Osir laik skaikru en osir gaf gothru klir.” _We are skaikru and we seek safe passage._

The Second hisses, “We do not welcome strangers.”

“We have protection from—”

“We are part of no alliance. Turn around at once, or be killed.”

Octavia scowls, a hand reaching instinctively to her dagger. Clarke continues, desperation tinting her voice. “If you don’t let us pass, we are all going to be dead.”

The Second, eyes flaring, opens her mouth, but is stopped by a single lift of a hand from the elder. Her voice is quiet, barely decipherable. But Octavia hears the words: “Teik em.” _Let them._

The Second’s mouth falls. She hisses, “Ogeda em?” _All of them?_

The elderly shakes her head. “Hedon.“ _Law._

The Second’s eyes scour over each of them. “Our Land is sacred ground,” she says. “Only the truest of bonds may pass.”

“What bond?” Octavia asks.

The fire of the Second’s eyes now targets Octavia. “Hodnes.” _Love_. “We require a bond of marriage.”

Octavia glances at the mission crew. Clarke, Bellamy, Monty, Miller, Abby, and Kane. Absolutely no one is married.

Kane says, “Please, have faith that bonds of the truest love exist—”

“Marriage,” the Second snaps, “is the only true bond.”

“We are married.”

Octavia knows Clarke has spoken only from the stiffening of her brother. Clarke looks unfazed. She, gesturing to Bellamy, says, "He is my husband.” Her eyes remain determined, but Bellamy has gone still.

The Second’s gaze roams over Clarke, then turns to scrutinize Bellamy. “You lie,” she says.

“No,” Clarke says. “We are married. We are allowed to pass.”

“Where are your tattoos of marriage?”

Clarke doesn’t even blink. “Skaikru marriages do not require tattoos.”

The second scoffs. “No tattoos, no entry.”

“Then we will get tattoos,“ Clarke says. Octavia’s eyes are on her brother’s fingers, which relax fractionally as Clarke’s hand finds them. “We wish to get them at this moment,” Clarke says, unblinking. “Our passage is urgent.”

The Second spends a long time looking at the two, their entwined hands. Honestly, Octavia does the same, because how, how is Clarke even thinking of doing this? The tattoos of marriage are a vital bond of life—they are unreplaceable and fundamental and Clarke is out of her damn mind.

Shit, the Second’s eyes are now on her. She coaches her face into neutrality, trying not to imagine these life-altering tattoos being etched into her brother’s skin for a negotiation term.

It proves harder than expected.

“Gona,” the Second says. _Warrior._ “Do you verify their bond?”

Octavia swallows, keeping her eyes from drifting back to Bellamy. Lifting her chin, she says, “Yes.”

The Second bores her eyes into Octavia a moment longer. Then, she turns her eyes to the rest of the mission crew. “Do you all verify?”

They do not hesitate in nodding.

The Second clearly is not convinced. Yet when she whirls around to the Head, the elder only nods. The Second, nostrils flared, approaches Bellamy and Clarke. “We will then commence the tattooing ceremony immediately. Wait here as we gather the supplies.” With that she turns, hoisting herself on a horse. Her and the warriors, along with the elder, ride off, leaving the mission crew stunned and still.

Before Clarke can turn to Bellamy, Octavia is already there, yanking her brother away from the crew, all but pushing him into a tree. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Bellamy tries to appear partial, but she sees his clenched jaw, his white knuckles. Sometimes she thinks she knows him better than he knows himself. He says, “I’m getting us safe passage.”

“Stop.” Octavia does not bother disguise the anger embittering her voice. “Stop pretending. Stop lying. Do you even know what those tattoos represent?” Bellamy opens his mouth but she barrels on. “Those tattoos mean you value each other’s lives over all else. It means you stand by each other’s sides and keep each other safe until the day you both die. With the tattoos, you become each other’s ally in conflict, sanctuary in adversity—your navigator, consoler, your partner for a lifetime.” She is slightly out of breath when she finishes. When did she memorize the words? A man with dark eyes and the brightest smile flashes in her head. Of course. It was when her own partner was still here to walk beside her.

Her grievance she replaces with anger, directed at full at her brother. “Those tattoos are a big fucking deal, Bellamy. What they represent is unbreakable.”

Her anger dims, just for a minute, as she registers Bellamy’s eyes. He looks about a thousand years old, as if he hasn’t slept since the day they landed on Earth. Both of which, she supposes, are true. Bellamy swallows, lifting his head. “My tattoos,” he says, “won’t be representing a lie.”

When he walks past her, she lets him go. Octavia clenches her hands tightly to keep from punching the damn tree. Her brother is in love, she knows. And it is breaking him.


End file.
